


Lonely Sunday Morning

by ladyamesindy



Series: Miscellaneous Mass Effect Stories [14]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Loss, Music, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26941390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: Late in the war, Michaela Shepard has to face some very hard truths, not the least of which is that she, herself, is human.Her failure on Thessia does nothing to dispel this.  In a desperate attempt to find peace long enough to get sleep so she can continue the charge, she come across something not meant for her ears ...
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Female Shepard
Series: Miscellaneous Mass Effect Stories [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752226
Kudos: 6





	Lonely Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Years ago, I created a Shepard I role played with Scarletthalloran's Kaidan Alenko. About that time, she also introduced me to the Levi Kreis song, "Lonely Sunday Morning". I started a fic about it and these two characters back then, but I was never able to finish it. Today, I did.

Like a lion through the high grass of the savannah, exhaustion stalks her every move, and with each mission, every battle, it is only getting worse. If she feels anything, it is the weight of every minute, every hour, every _day_ that passes since fleeing Earth and the Reaper attack. It doesn’t matter that it was for the good of the galaxy; it still hurts, and moving the entire process forward is a painful battle of its own, at times even against herself. She is drained; no doubt about it. Spent physically, emotionally, any and all ways a body, mind and spirit can be wrung out. But the missions come with such frequency and with very little of the precious downtime in between, she feels as if she is perpetually cracked, her life seeping out through the fissures. 

The war is taking its toll on her crew as well. On her friends. Mistakes have been made. The risks are starting to outweigh the benefits, but what other choice is there? The fate of the galaxy is on the line and they, _she_ , is the only one who can get them there. Winning is the only option; well, not the only, but failure certainly isn’t in the cards. Not if _she_ has a say in it. At the very worst, they die trying, and if that is their destiny, at least they will leave better counsel in place for the next cycle.

Shepard’s towel slithers down her body to form a muddled heap at her feet. She chooses to ignore it and the many regulations drilled into her during basic so many years ago, instead opting to crawl straight beneath the sheets. _Temptation is a dangerous thing_ , she recalls hearing somewhere. Right now, temptation wins out, though guilt tracks her quickly on its heels and attempts to gain traction … to no avail, the shower having taxed all remaining strength to push it away. 

_So close,_ she thinks as her head hits the pillow, tears finally forming as the truth wraps around her like a shroud. _We were so damned close … and now we are even further away than before …_

The dampness of her hair soaks the pillow and case, but she doesn’t care. Her eyes close, blessed sleep just within her grasp. To escape the failure, if only for a fleeting moment. She wants, _needs_ , to recharge. To process. To find a way to cope so that she can charge forward tomorrow as they need her to …

Bedclothes drawn over her shoulders, the soothing light from the fish tank the only source of brightness in the room, reality smacks her in the face with the force of a krogan headbutt, and she shudders. Realization, even at this depth of exhaustion, is not kind; it doesn’t matter how tired she is, how badly her body wants to fade into unconsciousness, her brain is unwilling to accommodate her and will not shut off. Focusing on good times, envisioning familiar, friendly faces – none of that will help. Distraction comes in many forms, but right now, behind closed eyelids, all she sees are tactical plans, desperate fights for survival, and the face of defeat … behind a mask and a sword .... Like an old school horror film, it replays over and over and over …

A scream builds in her throat, the desire to yell and curse and blast anyone or thing close enough to her in this moment. She _needs_ rest, dammit! If she’d only been a little faster, smarter, stronger on Thessia, they wouldn’t be in this situation. She cannot afford another mistake on that magnitude!

Biting back a half sob of frustration and anguish, she sits up and wraps her arms around her legs, dropping her forehead to rest on her knees. _It’s too much. I can’t keep doing this. WHY WON’T YOU LET ME SLEEP???_

The inner voices that often chide her during such times remain suspiciously silent this night. The replay of events on Thessia, however, do not.

Her chest aches, just the tiniest bloom near her heart, but it grows exponentially and spreads, its menacing tendrils burrowing deep. Her head starts to ache, beginning in her temples and slicing outward, searching for all of the most inconvenient and uncomfortable places …

This, however, she is prepared for. Without lifting her head, she extends her hand to the nightstand drawer and pulls it open. She fumbles a moment, eventually settling upon the small bottle of painkillers that the doctor provided weeks ago. The rattle from within assures her there are at least two left; it is enough. She pops them into her mouth and downs them without water. Enough is enough. Maybe this will help the other issue as well.

The bottle falls to the floor from nerveless fingers and she prays the relief comes quickly. It won’t last long, but if it can take the edge off, perhaps it will also allow her mind to be at ease and sneak stealthily past the images into unconsciousness …

Ten minutes past. Twenty. As the thirty minute mark comes and goes, a lone tear leaks from closed lids and trickles down her nose to drip silently into the sheets.

Opening her eyes, Shepard sits up, a sigh of frustration easing past her lips. She turns her attention to the tank, eyeing the creatures inside, desperately wishing for a way to escape reality for just _five bloody minutes_ with no other care in the world. Just five damned minutes -- she isn’t greedy! -- to rest.

Rolling to her feet, she grabs the offensive towel out of spite; she could ignore it again but the risk of tripping in her current state outweighs any momentary rebelliousness. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses it in the direction of the sofa … and then groans when it falls _behind_ it. Nothing, it seems, can be a win these days … 

It's then she notices her last chance, her one saving grace. Lying on the coffee table and flipped onto its face is her music datapad. She crosses the room in three strides and grabs it as well as the earbuds and returns to bed. A simple touch of her finger to the pad starts the playback. Something soothing and gentle, she hopes. Something that will transition her failure into sleep so she can get proper sleep to deal with whatever the reapers or Cerberus throw at her next. Y _ou win some, you lose some_ , she recalls her father saying once so many years ago. With a sigh, she thinks, _Yeah, Pop, but today we lost an important one … one that might just keep us from winning the whole thing …._

She desperately hopes she is wrong on that count.

Lying back, her eyes close and she sighs heavily as the first soft strains of piano filter in. It isn’t any song she is familiar with, but it has a nice sound to it … and then a deep, powerful, rich voice starts to croon. Resonate. 

She bolts upright, eyes wide, breath tight in her chest. She _knows_ that voice! This isn’t some professional recording, either – there’s a scratchiness in the background that suggests it was recorded over omni-tool. It also does nothing to hide the way the notes, so vibrant and compelling, meld with words that pull a deep and purely emotional response from within. 

_I can still taste you on my lips_

_I can still smell you on my sheets_

_I can still feel the way you tremble_

_When I hold you close to me_

All thought of blissful peace in unconsciousness flees with the strength of a biotic flare. And she doesn’t care …

_It's like everything about you_

_Is everything I need_

_Waking up without you_

_Is gonna be the death of me_

_I'm not so use to silence_

_I can't find you anywhere_

The tears are automatic -- between lyrics and music, she cannot help it. With shaking hands, she lifts the datapad and searches for clues to its owner because it certainly is not hers.

~ n ~

Wearily, Kaidan exits the lift and enters the cabin as silently as he can. He’s aware, from EDI, that Shepard retreated here after speaking with the asari Councilor, Admiral Hackett, and following up with Liara. There is a pattern in her retreat, one he isn’t certain she’s aware of, but now is hardly the time to argue about it. Her constant state of go, go, go in the face of so much adversity without recharging is of concern to him. She is their pillar of strength at the forefront of this crusade, and she needs it as much if not more than any of the rest of them. 

Still, she is who she is, and that isn’t worth arguing about either; thus the head start in the hopes she might take advantage of the opportunity and for once give in to her own needs. The fact that she’s here in her cabin suggests she may have. 

He enters to darkness, the glow of the fish tank his only guide, but it’s more than enough, particularly for someone used to taking refuge in dark corners for torturous migraines. He maneuvers through the cabin with grace and skill and very little if any sound …

Until he realizes Shepard is sitting unnaturally upright in the middle of their bed. Starlight from the overhead window streams down over her; it’s more than enough to see she is shaken. Something about it, something he can’t put into words, leaves him uneasy. She turns toward him, their eyes meet, and he finds something hauntingly familiar there. “Shepard?”

“Kaidan ...”

Her voice is but a rough rasp of a whisper, but her eyes remain on his, on _him_. He swallows back wariness and descends the steps to sit on the edge of the bed. “Are you alright?” He is hesitant to reach out in case it startles her, and yet he cannot help himself. “Have a bad dream?” he asks as he laces his fingers with her free hand. “Is there something I can --”

She touches a datapad he didn’t see, and the air around them fills with sound.

_“It's a lonely Sunday morning_

_Cuz you left me without warning_

_And I don't know how to make it through this lonely Sunday morning…”_

The words and music are as familiar to him as breathing, but his eyes widen in shock as she sings along. “How did you …?”

She hands over what turns out to be his music pad. The one, he realizes, he never tucked back away in the drawer where he normally leaves it because they arrived early to Thessia and the situation there far more dire than anticipated ....

“Kaidan.” 

Her voice cracks on his name and he winces at the pain in it. “Shepard, let me explain.”

She sets the pad aside and lifts her other hand to frame his cheek, turning his face toward her. “No need,” she whispers before leaning over to ghost a kiss across his lips. “I only have one question - why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighs – half in relief, half at the weight of having kept this from her for so long. “I …” He drops his gaze to their joined hands. “Losing you hurt,” he replies. It’s a simple excuse, too simple for what they’ve been through, but it’s the truth. “I needed a way to let that pain go.”

Against his cheek, he feels her hand tremble. “Do you … do you think … maybe you could teach me?”

“Hey.” He moves the pad out of the way and pulls her over onto his lap, wraps his arms around her, hums softly with the song. “Next time we’re on the Citadel?”

She nods, tucking her head against his shoulder. The song kicks into a repeat cycle, softly filling the air around them. “Sing for me?”

He presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

_I can still taste you on my lips …_


End file.
